The Outcasts
by Reasons of Heart
Summary: Theodred is dead. Theodred is dead. Eowyn wept bitterly. For she was alone. Truely alone. For Eomer to lose a man he dearly loved as a brother made him never the same. He would be at war with Mordor, with Saruman, with whoever dealt this grievous blow until his soul rested in peace. But there was more to the story. Theodred's body wasn't found yet.
1. Prologue

Hello! I understand the growing concern with the large number of Lord of the Rings fanfiction becoming slightly AU. I don't think Tolkien wanted his novels to become pulp fiction, but to embrace the spirit of adventure in an entirely new realm of imagination. Also, I was just a little concerned with Legolas being cocerced into many LegolasxOC stories (OC being the author/friend/devious fangirl), so I decided to write something a little different.

Another thing is we don't see much of Théodred, except for his dead body in the movie. So let's bring that to life!

Middle Earth and everything LoTR belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien. The characters and plot are mine. I don't believe in plagarism. Tolkien deserves more than that.

 **The Outcasts**

 _Prologue_

* * *

I could hardly feel the whip of the wind fiercely bite my face and uncomfortably wedge its way to my extremities and underneath the coarse fabric of my riding cloak.

At last, I slowed down marginally to cross the shallow Fords of Isen to reach the Gap of Rohan. Pebbles crumbled under my mare Stonefoot and the narrow muddy stream gurgled quietly. The River Isen could be crossed only at the Fords, greatly hindering the progress of my journey. I wondered if Cedric had already passed this crossing point.

The fog held close to the damp ground and the greyness of the Fords mingled with the stream. While my mare continued his slower pace, I felt a sinister presence laughing in the stream, perhaps Saruman himself, as if only fate would rule the night.

Why did I lack courage when it mattered the most anyway? Even though I was no rider, the Mark would surely curse me if they saw the cowardice thoughts that ran through my head.

I set that thought aside. Matters of heart were so dreadfully depressing.

I saw the orcs overtaking me crushing me with their crude weapons leaving me, a bloody corpse, floating limply in the Fords. They were laughing in their cruel manner at my fallen efforts as the Fords would soon be filled with the blood of men. Our riders, brave men of the Mark sent ahead only to be brutally murdered.

But Rohan did not have a choice in this time of war. The red sun was still high in the sky. Peace would not arrive for quite a while.

Ceorl had sent two of his swiftest messengers to deliver instructions regarding reinforcement from the Westfold. We were sent to deliver a change of plans for the Second Marshall of the Mark and the Westfold. In reality, Cedric, Ædelfrid, and I were just merely messengers, not nearly as trained as riders of Riddermark.

You may be wondering how a noble-borne lady got mixed into the menace that was war. The circumstances are very peculiar if I do say so myself. It began when my mother, Lady Ailessa, wife of Lord Feyworth, took it upon herself to send me off to Gondor for reasons that to this day I do not know. The only hardship I initially encountered was stumbling through Westron and the prim and proper etiquette of the nobles who were caught in vicious _diplomatic_ games. I could bore you with the details, but there is little I enjoy discussing about my past besides my dwelling in Dol Amroth and my duty as a messenger and my service to Princess Lothiriel who remained herself in spite of the changing world about herself.

We were his last choice, his only choice, since the other six messengers had been situated in the Eastfold, more than six days of hard riding away. They had their own tasks with the other Marshals for reinforcements or simply maintaining correspondence as scouts.

There was a sudden noise that broke the tranquility of the night. A horn distinctive of the start of an orc raid. Howling sounds of bloodlust came from a less than an hour away. The ominous feeling of the Fords of Isen at night became all too real when I heard that abhorrent sound.

That would mean only one thing—that I had been too late.

If I were venture farther, I might find myself crushed between two forces. There was a frightening possibility that I could not avoid the impact zone, but I could at least attempt to deliver the message.

Hordes of orcs were rising in the distant hills over the Fords and some forces would be along both banks in hardly any time at all.

I wished that the swift currents of the River Isen would flood the Fords and burst open the wicked Gate of Isengard. That it would wipe away Isengard and its orc armies for good. In doing so, cleanse Middle Earth of evil and restore it to greater peace and prosperity. An impossible and simplistic thought. No force of nature could change the path of the current, unless the dam was broken.

Instinctively, I gripped the reins of my mare harder and leaned in as Stonefoot and I hurtled in the direction of the Westfold. The iron-clad hooves of Stonefoot beat loudly on the rocky path. She was never meant to be a warhorse and did not enjoy metal attached to her hooves, but it was an ill thing to bear and grow used to when in the service of a messenger. A tree branch whipped the air scarcely above my head. In fair sunlight, avoiding branches was hardly a concern for one who had spent so much time with a mare.

The presence of riders was evident along a brief grassy knoll. Almost there.

A line of riders appeared at the top of the hill as I slowed my pace considerably. Movement of riders from the other side of the hill distracted me from the riders that surrounded me in an abrupt formation. The éored looked like they were in the process of leaving.

One rider with distinctive armor approached me. His flowing blond hair contrasted with his severe expression. The weathered features of his face revealed he had experienced the wartime horrors too many times.

"I am Grimbold of Grimslade," he greeted. "Who are you? And what brings you here in the Mark?"

Slightly offended by his brusque manner, I realized he was probably facing worse problems than I was. Retaining a tactful politeness that I offered my superiors, I responded accordingly.

"Hail Captain Grimbold. I am Airelyn of Edoras, in the service of Ceorl. I bear urgent news from Erkenbrand," I informed him.

"What reports do you bring?" he enquired. "I have little time for this. It is an ill time to bear news."

All eyes were on me. Based on how laden my satchel had become, there was much work left for me in the Westfold. Were it not for the interesting sorts of people that I meet in the Mark, transporting domestic correspondence within the Mark would be a task both tedious and mundane. Presently, it was too dangerous for me to move between the Riddermark and Gondor so I was confined to tasks throughout Rohan exclusively. Retrieving a bunch of letters tied together with a piece of twine, I quickly identified the correct parchment and handed him the paper.

"It is better if you read it yourself," I stated.

"Very well. This is the handwriting of Ceorl," he observed. His eyes scanned the letter and his mouth was set in a firm line.

To my relief, the attention shifted back to Grimbold. His riders awaited his reaction.

"Thank you for the news," he responded with a frown. "It simply reiterates that I cannot linger any longer. My éored must ride out to meet with the Second Marshall about the change in plans."

Carefully, he folded the letter and placed it somewhere on his saddle.

He gave me a strange expression, probably that I did not appear to look like any rider he had ever seen. Perhaps it was because I never removed my hood. Or the fact that most messengers were scouts who were in turn riders. A broad generalization that I unfortunately did not fit in.

It is strange actually. Despite the acceptance of women as shieldmaiden for self-defence in the Riddermark unlike most kingdoms, it would be better for me to be a man in my profession. In that regard, none would question my validity upon meeting me for the first time in the middle of my duties as a messenger.

"Well, if you have no further news, I suggest you head back to Erkenbrand for your safety. A woman should not bear the burdens of the riders. You have no further business here," he commanded.

Having never been at odds with the éoreds, I was surprised how he dealt with me compared to the first time I had met them. It was evident that I just needed to spend more time in the Mark rather than Gondor. After all, I had only spent two summers here in the Westfold since I was back from Gondor.

Still, Grimbold served an important purpose for the good of the Riddermark so I duly added, "Béma be with you and with the Second Marshall," ere shifting a short distance away to watch.

Nodding in my direction, he acknowledged my farewell. However, he seemed more preoccupied with his éored.

"Riders of the Mark," he called out instructions to his men. "Let us be on our way. Théodred son of Théoden-King needs us at this very moment. We are to hold the Fords against the darkness of Saruman until reinforcements from Elfheim arrive.

The authority by which Grimbold spoke captured the attention of all. I was deeply impressed. The faces of the riders, young and old, varying in their experience in war, all focused on their Captain.

Though not losing his commanding tone, his voice grew solemn as he continued, "Do not fear the darkness that lies ahead. We are the Eorlinglas. Let this ride be for the families and for the Mark. May the Armies of Saruman be crushed under our feet. Tonight, we ride for the Mark."

His voice rose sharply throughout his short speech, eventually reaching an angry shout. In hopes of fighting to protect their families, Prince Theodred, and the Riddermark, they all shouted in response. Agony, pain, and revenge were evident on the riders' faces. The civilization of the Mark would make their final stand against the barbarian forces of Saruman.

It brought me renewed hope to see them off and extinguished some of my fears. Riding off to the side, I watched them leave.

There was a thundering of hooves and a billowing of dust. Then, they were fading in the distance.

A future in the hands of young, a family to attend to for the middle-aged, and posterity for the faces of the old. They all had a family, a home, and a kingdom to look after. Secretly, I envied how welcome they would be upon return because my cousin Warren might be the only one that would receive me warmly. We used to be very close as children, writing frequently when I was away in Gondor, but with age and distance, we had grown apart.

Yet now, I could not compare my meager deeds as a messenger to the acts of bravery by the riders I reminded myself.

Sincerely, I prayed for their safe return. Wartime brought casualties and often slaughtered the most valiant of men.

As I started back to the Mark, I gingerly soothed Stonefoot by rubbing gentle strokes on rigid muscles of her neck. At the same time, I wondered if they had a house of healing. Surely, they must where they established their fort. But what if it was a great distance away? The wounded traveling a journey that could mean a certain death without timely treatment.

Reaching under my cloak, I patted my medicine bag. The Princess of Dol Amroth had given it to me as a parting gift for my service and companionship. The familiar worn leather skins sewn neatly together had saved the lives of many in Gondor by the hands of Lothiriel. Alongside other healers, she aided the Gondorian men with remarkable compassion when they returned from battle, restoring their spirits and their morale. She had taught me the techniques of salves and balms, allowing me to offer my aid as well. Fragrant herbs of sage, thyme, rosemary, and various others drifted to my nose as I opened it. Throughout my diverse travels and acquaintances, the variety of exotic herbs and plants grew. Fortunately, it was rare that I ever needed to use them on my journeys.

My decision was made. Ceorl could wait. Even the consequences of directly disobeying Grimbold's orders could wait. It was time to save the lives of my countrymen.

Turning Stonefoot around, I set off towards the deep violet of the dusk after Grimbold. By maintaining a decent pace, I could reach the éoreds soon enough. Preferably, after the orcs had left. It would not be long ere I could battle the evil forces of Saruman in my own way.

* * *

Hope you like. :)

At times, I became pretty bored with writing in olden terms. So there are occasional deviations (laziness of my part) in the language.

If you ever looked up the history of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen, I know the time scale does not quite coordinate with the story. So you'll have to overlook that for the moment. All the geography for the battle should be right though (I hope).

I'll admit I'm pretty ignorant of the languages and history of Middle Earth in extensive detail. A lot of _research_ went into this. So if you see any errors, feel free to tell me about them before I embarrass myself further.

Leave a review if you have a question or comment.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

* * *

The ride was dismal. Sunlight was leaving, allowing the moon, veiled by clouds, to rule over the darkness. Loosening my grip on the reins and smoothing her well-groomed mane, I did my best to reassure my mare, "We'll be alright, Stonefoot. I promise."

Snorting in response, I knew she did not agree. My hands were shaking when I did not hold the reins so tightly. She knew me all too well. Stonefoot seemed tenser in spite of my efforts to soothe her.

I didn't blame her. After all, we shared a terrifying experience when a small band of orcs nearly overtook us. Upon being attacked by an orc's dagger, she swiftly rode away, leaving me to fend for myself or retreat on foot. Running away had been a fruitless effort.

Fortunately, cavalry and bowmen from Gondor had finished them off just in time. At that point, I was so furious at my mare that I nearly renamed her Stonefear. But I had to forgive her. I couldn't find it in my heart to hate the horse that I had not only been granted by Lothiriel, but raised myself.

That's what I both loved and despised about my mare. She was a sturdy breed who could make it through the worst conditions. Furthermore, she was a swift horse, especially swift to flee similar to myself. As peculiar as it may sound, it assured me of one thing: at least, I'm not alone in this. We possess the same amount of courage. Almost none.

After that, they permitted Princess Lothiriel to teach me archery specifically for my safety. She had been so anxious to do so. Prior to this, she made me watch her practice archery and study her books how it was done. Delighted that I seemed to possess a decent level of skill, she seized every opportunity she got to force me to practice in order to improve my accuracy and speed. I prided myself in my skill although I hoped I would never have to use it. There are still calluses on my hands from more than just riding my mare, but I have no scars like true warriors do.

Geographically, Saruman had an advantage because he could send his troops down either side of the Isen and attack the Fords, if they were held against him, from both sides. The riders, however, had a strengthened morale. It was a mixed morale. If their prince fell, their future was all the more grim.

Even with no guarantee that some riders would be able to save me like the bowmen of Gondor had, I still placed my hope in the reinforcements.

Riding on the main path was not safe, so I rode through the forest as long as I could see it from the side. Due to the low visibility from the fog, the River Isen helped me stay on the correct path as well.

Brown leaves crunched under Stonefoot. A denser part of the forest was filled with low-reaching trees that scratched my cloak, no matter what way I turned. Movement in the trees sent a shudder through Stonefoot, who raised her front hooves in attempt to persuade me to turn the other way.

Gripping the reins, I sought to console Stonefoot by reasoning with her. "Please Stonefoot, listen to me. We have to help the injured riders."

She whinnied in disagreement and slowed her pace. "It won't be like last time. I'll keep you safe at whatever cost," I pleaded her again.

I fully anticipated her to snort and cock her head in disbelief. Instead, she stilled. I was glad to have so faithful a Maeras at my side.

"In fact, I promise I'll keep you safe. We have the help of the gods at our disposal," I assured her as we slowed our pace. She could sense my nervous smile. Withdrawing my quiver, I removed the cork from a slender glass bottle in my medicinal bag. Stonefoot's nose twitched. Neither of us liked the smell.

Meticulously, I immersed the tips of exactly ten of my arrowheads in shinigami, a poison of a deep purple shade that was a gift of the Sayordin, and carefully lay them aside from the other arrows. I didn't want to waste the meager solution. Sealing it tightly again, I put it back in my bag. Ragadast the Brown warned me against its use, yet it seemed to reassure myself and my mare, though I still hoped to evade a skirmish.

Flames cracked. Swords clashed. Arrows flew. Men fell. And I tried to conceal myself along the foliage.

Trying not to look too closely at the disfigured bodies on the ground, I searched for someone to help at the edge of the impact zone. Flinching at a decapitated rider who still bore a look of horror, I quickened my pace.

A young rider of not more than twenty years lay on the ground, with his mare leaning down to comfort him. He had to be at least two years younger than me. His face was startlingly pale, comparable to the White Tree of Gondor. Pale enough to be dead, I thought sadly. So unfortunate for so young a rider to be slain. Peering closer, I surmised that he had a severe arm injury, but he was still breathing.

"Let me return to the House of Eorl. To enter the glorious gates away from this terror," he murmured thinking himself dead.

Quickly climbing down from Stonefoot, I struggled to lift off his heavy chainmail and dropped it with a ponderous clank on the ground. Carefully, I rolled up his blood-soaked sleeve. Ripping a strip of his tunic, I began to wipe his arm clean and dab a pungent salve made of thyme and sage to promote clotting of the blood. Startled by this movement and the strange scent, he winced in pain and wearily opened his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to sit up and push me away. "Let my tunic be."

Obviously, this young rider had been through his first battle. As I pushed him back to the ground, "Treating your wound. Now lie still if you want to survive."

Ripping another piece of his tunic, I tightly wrapped it around his arm and struggled to put his chainmail back on. He helped me redress himself in his armor, wincing at a pain in his back, but still tried to shove me away when I pressed him for me to inspect it.

"What is it?" I asked, unhappy with his lack of cooperation.

A few orcs approached us with their long knives extended.

"It is none if your concern," he answered sharply as he retrieved his spear and mounted his horse. "The battlefield is no place for a woman. You are a fool to be found here. Leave now and you will be spared."

Spared from what? The horrors of war? A healer has already lived through the brunt of them.

Flashing me an irritated glance, he added, "I find the rumors of the nature of orcs to be true."

He ran his spear directly into the first orc and knocked the heads off the other two. I flinched a little. They used to be men. Now, they are only evil creatures with foul breath. Remarkable for a first battle though he was ignorant about healers.

That peaked my curiosity, was there another reason that women were not allowed on the battlefield. Offering him a shrewd expression, I asked, "Rumors of what?"

Another line of orcs from the left flank ran towards him. He brandished his lance once more. Shaking his head, he said, "Never mind that I mentioned it. Just leave."

"You must retreat now that you are injured," I advised him.

"It is only a flesh wound. I assure you I will after I am certain Theodred is safe," he responded as he started to ride off.

The stubbornness of the riders was unbearable. The axe of a larger orc glinted from his blind side.

"That is surprising that you have the knowledge of healers when you could not get up without the help of one. That looks to be an injury to your more dominant arm for battle. It is safer for you to leave now," I warned. It was clear the young rider ignored me and prepared for the five orcs that ran in his direction.

I set an arrow in my shortbow. Even though one orc was running, it was straight ahead and he scarcely saw my position from behind a massive tree. It would be here in less than ten seconds. Leaning to the side of the tree for a better angle, I closed my eyes briefly. This was the only type of target I had practiced in all my years of archery.

Courage. The thing I lacked, I reminded myself. Not now. Wrong attitude. Think of matters at hand.

Releasing it, I watched as it sank deeply into the neck of the large orc and crumpled to the ground. The young rider battled two at a time, but the persistence of four would surely result in another injury or death.

I fixed another arrow to my bow. I would be safe as long as they are distracted. My accuracy was far inferior to any elf, but at least I knew where to hit. Close to the neck, a spot where armor did not cover. With a little more courage and speed, I let my arrow fly.

I missed.

Instead, it had hit the shoulder of another orc. Now, they all knew my location.

The young rider had already ridden off ere he could realize I saved him from an immediate danger. Inadvertently, he had forced me to face a new danger.

Wait, where was Stonefoot?

* * *

A special thanks to TMI Fairy for setting me on the right track and giving me all the nice and nerdy details.

Also, I edited a few details in this chapter.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2  
_

* * *

Surely Stonefoot had not bolted. Then, there would be no escape.

That rider had fell one. Three orcs were still in heavy pursuit.

I ran farther and farther until I was certain they would pursue me no more. They didn't stop and more orcs eagerly joined the chase. What orc didn't smell my fear? Their steps quickened and I knew they were less than five seconds behind me.

I only knew their distance from timing my frequent rides on horse and on foot. Yet perception of his distance would not stop my demise.

The dagger! My only choice for an enemy at close range. But no. Not for ten orcs who all dealt their attacks with long weapons. I was a sitting pincushion, waiting for the sword to go through my back.

 _War is not the province of women_ , someone in the Mark must have said before. To which, I hastily agreed.

Stonefoot hadn't gone, I told myself. Not like last time.

They seemed to be quite literally at my feet. I needed a strategy.

 _A willow tree is a soft reminder of the wind  
The way the branches turn you may pass  
Fall into its trunk's kind embrace  
To be protected from the elements and ill will._

That was exactly it. This verse was surprisingly useful. Use the trees to your advantage. While I'm not a scholar and I have a tendency to detest anything you cannot do with your hands, there are some texts that Morwen of Lossernach had made me commit to memory. In other words, I despised most poetry because it lacked a practical purpose.

Sharply turning after reaching a thicker tree, I changed my direction. Unfortunately, it only confused them for a moment, but hindered them little. Still, I could use an extra ten seconds of distance with wild things at my tail.

Generally running back toward the Fords, I ran in wide curves, changing my direction spontaneously once they responded by changing their pace.

No more running, my legs complained. It was not my intention to get lost, especially with a band of orcs after me. I had to conserve my energy for healing and riding Stonefoot. Speaking of which, where had she gone?

There were no discernible footsteps behind so I cautiously turned around with an arrow fixed against my shortbow. Orcs wouldn't just let their prey away without reason.

A mare whinnying in the distance caught my attention. She wouldn't dare try a direct confrontation, would she?

Wearily walking back to where I had been originally, I searched for a pale grey stallion whose mane I had just brushed yesterday. Please let fate not be a warg. There was no chance for her survival against a warg.

She whinnied louder, sounding almost angry. At least I knew she was close. Just where?

It was a sight to see. Beyond some trees. Thirty feet away. A perfect mid-range distance for an archer.

A disfigured orc lay face down on the ground with very dented armor. He had been trampled.

To my surprise, not by a warhorse, but undoubtedly by my own mare. She boldly stood between two orcs with her front hooves midair. They came down on one of the orcs that had been pursuing me.

What was I thinking? I simply stared at her in shock, completely awed by her act of bravery, while she was clearly in harm's way because I choose to flee. That was selfish of me. She was weaponless. The only weapon she could wield was her wit. That was pretty sad, if she could defeat more orcs weaponless than I could with two weapons.

With the most precise aim that I could muster, my arrow flew right into the face of the orc. The neck would have been better. In essence, it accomplished the same effect anyway.

I rushed over to Stonefoot quickly glancing for wounds before mounting. Upon seeing a thin long cut by her neck, I shivered. She had narrowly avoided death. It wasn't a terrible cut. With a bit of lavender salve, I cleaned the wound and covered it with a bandage. She loved the scent of lavender tremendously and fortunately I always had a lot of the common herb. It was the smallest comfort I could offer her considering how I forced her in this dreadful war.

"Now, we're even. Two to two. Orc kills," I noted trying to lighten the mood. Stonefoot snorted.

"What was that? Did you just forfeit your honey oats for the day?" I teased while I patted her head and smoothed her mane with my gloved hand. She neighed in complaint as if trying to avoid being rubbed.

"I take that back," I said as I finished fixing her mane. "Stonefoot is better than a warhorse. Size matters not. You're smaller but just as clever if not more so."

Satisfied, she raised her head like a noble stallion. She's the best, I thought with a small smile.

We moved to the next rider. He was in so much pain from his severed leg that he told me to leave him to die with valor. Despite his protests, my ministrations with some leaves of sage were successful in bandaging what remained of his leg and easing his pain with a touch of lemon balm. In the same foolish manner, he rode off, slightly unbalanced, toward the Second Marshall.

"Stupid men and their valor," I remarked as he rode off to rejoin. "Wouldn't you agree, Stonefoot?"

My mare snorted. Now was it agreement or was she mocking me? If she were indeed mocking me and she were a human, she would say something like "Is that so? Then what is the secret reason for your presence here? I highly doubt it is to entertain the men" or some equivalent phrase of sarcasm.

"You wouldn't dare mock me, right?" I asked in a slightly pleading tone.

Again, she snorted.

What a sassy mare! So obstinate. Like yourself, a voice in mind agreed. Well, I must be blessed by the gods that she doesn't speak.

It was tiresome to treat merely five riders, many of which did not think they required my aid. Three of which reprimanded me for coming to the battlefield in the first place. One man was killed scarcely after I had healed him. None of them would explain the "rumor of the nature of war" to me either. Not that I bothered to ask. If I had, they would be all stern and serious and likely become angry with me.

That wasn't all. Multiple times I had to leap on my horse and ride off from the impact zone out of my terror of the orcs. After all, I only had my bow and a dagger. And I am no Rider of an éored. I'm simply a little too small in size and stature for that vocation.

As far as I could see in the fog and with the moon obscured by the clouds, the number of orcs seemed to grow exponentially. The masses of orcs were only apparent by the sea of glinting metal, which were likely their weapons or armor reflecting eerie slivers of moonlight.

"Fall back to the Fords! Retreat with all haste!" shouted a distant voice that carried authority.

A retreat to the Fords? That was twenty miles south! What madness was this? Perchance the Second Marshal lost his wits at the sight of the most grotesque orc. The éoreds of Theodred seemed to be managing the Gap of Rohan well enough. A substantial number of orcs remained. A retreat would weaken the defence of the Gap.

What was the cause for a change in strategy?

Perhaps Grimbold had heeded the warning I sent as I had hoped. If he rode with his éoreds directly to Théodred rather than waiting at the Fords until Théodred needed reinforcements, it would prevent an ambush from the back.

Then with a glance at River Isen further south, I saw.

More orcs spilled out from the east and west banks of the River Isen, overwhelming the éoreds. The ambush was about to be thwarted.

Success. For me. Ceorl would be proud. I just hoped that the other messenger, Cedric had survived as well.

My next, most immediate action would be to flee. Standing here dumbly would result in being trampled by the retreating Rohirrim or being butchered by the orcs.

He continued shouting until all the riders were on their way before making his way to éoreds. I watched as the riders reluctantly followed through with the Marshall's order.

A few orcs used this to their advantage, cutting down riders who took their time in retreating. Wincing at the sight, I stood frozen in place with indecision.

My choices were few. To find safety in the midst of the éoreds by joining them or try fighting off the pursing orcs myself. I had half a mind to bolt away from the impact zone and head south as fast as I could. That would be equally foolish to run into the orcs planning the ambush.

Wracking my brain for solutions, it was becoming increasingly evident of my situation.

I was trapped. And soon enough, directly in the impact zone.

* * *

Thank you for everyone who took the time to review/follow, especially for the positive feedback from **sian22** , **Cheez Socks** , **Penlym** , of course **TMI Fairy**.

Ok that's it, no more replacing old chapters unless there are severe errors. I'm sure that habit of mine is very annoying.

I lied. I think this pattern will continue forever. Readers bear with me.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

* * *

Typically, I familiarized myself with the phases of the moon so that I was always held accountable for the time. On behalf of Ceorl, who thought of me as a daughter of sorts, I was not allowed to travel after dusk. Also, I had to stay in the Westfold for all my deliveries. It would be too _unseemly_.

 _Emerges from the cloudy curtains. The delight of a courier.  
Arianrhod the Lady of the Stars curtsies low. The delight of a traveler.  
Swings her skirts high at Yule. The delight of every man.  
Returns from winter full of springtide youth. The delight of a warrior._

When I looked upon the moon this night, I could tell Arianrhod, lady of the moon and stars and spinner of fate, seemed to have turned her back on us tonight (1). Having shrouded herself in the clouds, she may have ignored the pleas of the Eorlingas.

Perhaps you would be shouting, "Flee over the River Isen, you fool! No one would be attacking from there, is that not true?"

My only response, if I was not too scared out of my mind to respond, would be, "You speak rightly so. The only problem is that I ride a horse not an eagle. I suppose it would not a terrible plan if Meneldor the Great Eagle decided to show up at the perfect moment."

Now enough of that hypothetically speaking, we're in a time of war and I'm afraid to death.

With my hands shaking so violently, I could scarcely hold the reins properly. Stonefoot was about to bolt. I'm so glad that I tamed her to some degree. Otherwise, she would have no hesitation biting off my hand and deserting her rider by now. I was losing control.

"Please Stonefoot, calm down," I begged. "I'm just as confused and scared as you are. The riders will be here any moment and I don't have a clear idea of when the orcs approaching from the south will arrive. There's too much fog. I just know the riders are not as far as the orcs."

It was as if she had heard nothing that I had said. Maybe her non-Mearas blood was acting up. She continued to struggle against my grip on the reins, escaping a few steps.

Though I was pretty frustrated with her, I had to be a little sympathetic. In actuality, she was doing what any sane being on Middle Earth would try do in our situation. Succumb to the primal instinct. Protect one's life. Respond to the irrational fear. Flee at all costs.

"Listen, if we stay in the right place, there might be a chance of safety," I told her. "If we stay standing right here, we'll be run over."

She managed to get a few more paces before I halted her movement again. She was testing my hold on the reins waiting for a gap so that she could spur into action. This game wasn't going to last long for me.

I could hear the pounding of hooves. Riders on warhorses approaching from the north. Orcs in the south. Neither were waiting for me to solve this conflict.

Step one. I already laid down the circumstances of the terms of the treaty. The barest details. The potential risks. Many times she would respond to my logic. But now? Still, she was not completely persuaded.

This was ridiculous. Why did I have to negotiate with my horse?

Step two. Simplify your argument.

"All we have to do is move ourselves to the protection of this thick oak tree. We need to stand directly at the foot of the tree, pointing south. While you point south, I'll glance north to watch for the Rohirrim," I explained as patiently as I could manage.

Well? For a moment, she wouldn't budge. It would be not long before she broke her saddle in anguish, grew wings, and took flight.

Taking this as her listening closely, I continued, "When the riders first arrive, they'll probably run us over if we were in the open space next to the tree."

Upon hearing "run us over," she bolted. Or rather, we bolted. Flying south at an intense speed. It made me so dizzy. If I wasn't leaning forward so heavily, I could fall off at any moment. We must have gained another mile away from the riders.

Counterargument? Indeed. Running away is a blatant act of opposition. Had you been interested in knowing the pattern of which the strange thoughts course through my mind, I just skipped an onslaught of steps in the process of diplomatic negotiation.

"Wait! I wasn't done," I persisted, my voice escalating to a shout. "Once it looks like one of the éoreds has passed, we can ride in the midst of them. It will act as a buffer zone to prevent the orcs from mauling us at once. If we get to the Fords with the éoreds, we may even be able to escape."

By the slightest bit, Stonefoot relaxed. If she stayed like this for a long time, I'd eventually wear myself out completely. To my relief, she gradually relented.

"That's better," I remarked. "Now…"

Surprisingly, she pranced over to the oak tree of her own accord. While I didn't like the prancing which made for a very bumpy ride, there are some things I had to admit: Stonefoot was full of surprises. Obedience wasn't really one her traits, but loyalty was. Also, the detestable act of prancing allows the horse to get the farthest distance in the fewest strides.

What an intelligent mare! Nearly as smart as Shadowfax. To end an argument early. To comply with my petition completely. My first diplomatic success accomplished by focusing on the tedious process that all noblemen are supposed to know. I take what I had said earlier back. She must be a full Mearas to understand all that.

Due to the fact that the Rohirrim were riding warhorses who were taller in stature and stronger than my palfrey mare, the mile we gained was quickly lost. I did not have to turn to look beyond the tree to hear a sound beating faster than my heartbeat. The pounding of the hooves of the warhorses.

Get ready, Stonefoot. By reaching for the reins, I didn't have to say to say it aloud.

I sincerely hoped all the éoreds would ride on the treeless banks of the River Isen, not riding abreast through the wooded areas. Or else Stonefoot or I might have a massive heart pain from being so startled. My knowledge of herblore would tell me foxglove or a radish with salt in a vapor bath would be the cure for that (2). The strategy will go awry from there.

Wait for it.

I closed my eyes and prepared to yank the reins into a firm grip.

Stonefoot's muscles were tense, but I knew better than to soothe her. It would be better that she use some of that nervous energy.

The beating of the rocky ground by the warhorses rose in volume. It was the severe, unrelenting blows of the orcs. The stubbornness of the Eorlingas. To stay alive. To remain free peoples outside of Sauron's dominion. To punch Sarumon in the mouth. To cease his Dark Speech babble. I think you get the point.

Roaring so loudly that I was tempted to cover my ears, I felt the Rohirrim drive a current of air pass me by their mere ambition. They whizzed past me. They were a force of their own. As free as a wild mare. My hood sank lower on my head. Though I was twitching to fix it, my hands remained firmly on the reins. If I were to open my eyes, I might've seen a blur.

Finally mustering the bravery to open my eyes, I observed the riders flying past me. Right and left. They appeared from either side of the tree. To my relief, mostly by the bank. Whoosh. Once the last of the éored had passed, my hood fell off entirely. A little too close for comfort.

Men don't braid their hair. I was trying to be anonymous with the cloak.

A marginal gap between the éoreds.

Go. I shouted in my mind loud enough for Stonefoot to hear.

Jerkily, we launched ourselves forward. The strides of the warhorses were longer and we were beginning to fall behind a bit. Any moment we might run into the wrong person. My feet prodded Stonefoot to go faster. She was at her limit.

For this stretch of the bank, it was clear of riders, trees, and anything other obstructions. I closed my eyes as I pulled up my hood. A risky thing to do. But it helped me concentrate.

Soon, we will be—

I rose from my saddle by two hands that held me at the waist. Not looking who it was, I closed my eyes at the wrong time. Stonefoot, you better be alright.

"Meneldor the Great Eagle! You've finally come!" I exclaimed. No, it couldn't be, I opened my eyes.

Dejectedly, I muttered, "I mean I wished you had come."

It was too strange for an eagle to pick me up that way, myself in a vertical position. Wouldn't the bird have to fly sideways to achieve that? In that case, I sounded like a madwoman.

"Who is the stranger?" a rider called out. Don't they know? Help had arrived.

"How do you know she is not one of Saruman's spies?" another shouted.

She? Meneldor was a…?

When I opened my eyes, I really hoped for the wings of an eagle. But it was merely a rich brown mare. A very becoming mane showed this one was very well-groomed, even if only a warhorse of a random rider. However, this was not the time to get distracted.

Struggling against the one-handed grasp of the rider, I tried to return to Stonefoot. It might be a hard fall that involved an injury, but as long as I got my mare back, I'd be content. On with the plan.

"Do not question my judgment. I believe this one requires a healer. She's beside herself. Though Sauron is clever, he would not have Saruman use a hallucinating woman to create a stir. It is evident the horrors of war have rendered her lost and confused," a voice boomed from behind me.

Besides the rumbling of the hooves against the rocky soil, the captains of the other éoreds remained either silent or speechless.

"Now, we don't want her to be made breeding stocks by the orcs, do we? And if she were indeed a servant of Sauron, we will rightly deal with her at the Westfold. Send for Captain Grimbold to assign a rider of his éoreds to the task of bring her to a house of healing once we reach the earthern forts at the Fords."

Stunned by this new information, my response came far too late.

Did he just say breeding stock? So that was the rumor. It must be true enough if every rider knows of it.

Strange how this other rider, who held authority to captains and who was the detested Snatcher of my saddle, just let out the carefully guarded secret without any qualms.

"Yes, milord," the gruff voice of a captain replied. Immediately, the captain moved over to his éored and barked out an order to send one of his riders to inform Captain Grimbold.

"Wait a moment, Sirs!" I shouted angrily. "Unhand me this instant. Return me to my mare before I gouge out your eyes."

Obviously, that was an empty threat.

Awaiting their response, I fully anticipated their permission for a safe return to Stonefoot. Seeing that it would be very awkward to turn around to look at the Snatcher, I glanced at the other captains for what they would do next.

They simply laughed. All of them.

If you wanted to look upon my face to laugh at me, you would see a the flare of a fire. I was on the verge of exploding out of utter humiliation and misplaced anger. Death by embarrassment.

One had the insolence to remark, "Théodred, I think you were right about the delusions."

"The question is, Théodred," another ventured in a serious tone. "If the Mark possesses a healer advanced enough to treat these _states of mind_."

This initiated a new bout of laughter.

"One more thing," a captain from somewhere behind me started. "Let her not cause a stir among our riders. If she were successful, then we know her to be ones of Sauron's spies. She will be punished the way all traitors are."

He's right, I thought with a shiver. Better get back to Ceorl before things take a turn for the worse. I'd take my normal job for being stuck in a battle ever again. Anything would be better than being punished for misplaced bravery. There was not much more to conclude. Foolish was every bone in my body. I was wiser as a messenger not a warrior.

The mood of the captains grew serious.

"You're right," the Second Marshall agreed firmly. "It is hard to believe Sauron would use such a weak vessel, but for now we'd best be cautious. If the stranger is an abomination of Sauron, it is better for her to meet her demise at the teeth of a warg. For now, we have to keep her away from the Riders for their protection."

"If this be the workings of Grima," a captain began. They all seemed to know what he was thinking. The abhorrent Dunlending they seemed to be looking for evidence against. But it would seem he was irremovable, being so close an advisor to Theoden.

I was getting nervous by this sort of talk. Just give me Stonefoot and I'll stay hidden in the Mark where I belong.

* * *

A/N: Please note that some liberties have been taken to write this chapter. To clear up some confusion I made some serious adjustments.

(1) Arianrhod - Goddess of the moon and stars, her name means "silver- wheel" the wheel of the year and the web of fate." I figured the Eorlinglas are polytheistic, even though they only mentioned Vala Onomë the Hunter (Béma).

(2) Although the term "heart attack" wasn't well-known in the Middle Ages, they called the same problem "heart pain." If you want the specifics, I put them below.

"Medieval healers had many cures for heart pain, deriving from scholarship and folk medicine ... One popular cure called for serving the individual a radish with salt while he sat in a vapor bath... [They] provided patients with a sense of calm and well-being, still considered to be of value in the battle against heart disease."

Thank you to all reviewers/followers, especially the more entertaining ones *hinthintTMI.

\- Don't worry, I didn't forget you either. ("Yes, a new follower!") Sorry if you didn't want all the attention.

If you have any questions, feel free to PM me or leave it in a review.


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

* * *

Night had fallen and the orc-men roamed at the peak of their desire for the fresh blood of men. Their victims were the Eorlinglas, among the few bearers of light in Middle Earth stuck between the evil of Isengard and Mordor. Dark storm clouds shrouded the moon, extinguishing much of the light that had been here earlier. Optimal conditions for an orc attack. Fed by the fuel of heightened fear and the decreased visibility of the riders.

Presently, I was sitting with the rider sent by Grimbold. All the while I was craning my neck at the oddest angles to look for Stonefoot. By any rider, I seemed to have been playing the humiliating role of not being right in my mind.

What had just transpired a moment ago?

It was an impossible situation. Hopefully, one that would be long forgotten.

Despite the captains' efforts to help me get back to safety, I would prefer my own strategy on my own mare. It would be best to sort this out before it further deterred my plans.

"Is it possible that I may speak with Captain Grimbold myself?" I asked the rider. "I can explain. He met with me earlier to receive a message from Ceorl."

After a moment of consideration, the rider agreed, "Fair enough."

I honestly can't understand why he didn't remember me from earlier. I sent a message of import. Earlier, it had seemed that everyone fixed their attention on me. Now, it had conveniently slipped from their minds.

"But first, one request," I began. This time I would not be made a fool of.

"I am not certain that I have the authority to grant it. Perhaps you can ask Grimbold," the rider replied sharply.

"I'm sure that you can," I pleaded. "It's a small favor."

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "Go on. Tell me what it is."

Not wanting the whole plan to slip out, I offered him my problem. If it turned out favorably, he could play a meager role in my strategy. "There is a slight problem. Do you know where my palfrey mare can be found? She was my means of arriving here. I really do not intend to lose her. It would be foolishness."

"That is concerning," he slowly responded. "I will inform Captain Grim—"

"Oh, it's not necessary," I exclaimed. "I assure you. I can find my mare myself. Lead me back to the Second Marshal's captains and we'll sort it out there."

"Unfortunately, I think that would not be wise on my part. Captain Grimbold sent me with specific instructions to watch over you and the deliver you safely to the Westfold," he replied firmly.

This rider seemed very suspicious of my abrupt request. It was not working out well for me. If only I could yank the reins from his grip.

What to do? I did not want to garner the rider's sympathies by making him pity an ignorant and confused woman. Eorlinglas liked honesty and I dreaded begging. Perhaps a bolder approach would suffice.

"Don't you know you are a valuable rider that can contribute in some way to the victory at the Fords?" I began. It was not my intention to butter him up, just to get him thinking. "I am a proficient healer, but even one who is not can tell you have no injuries from the first skirmish. And I think that this gives you every right to prove your worth to your éored. You should be fighting against the forces of Sauron, not wasting your time helping an ailing woman escape."

He did not respond. I really did not want him to discover my plans, but if it was the only way to get to Stonefoot, then it was well worth it.

Continuing on, I added, "I am not merely a noblewoman who rides sidesaddle, but I am an experienced messenger who can ride better than any person who is not a rider. Grant me the task off riding away on my own so that you can watch for the safety of yourself and your éored."

His hesitation was evident as he responded, "I know that you mean well. However, if Grimbold assigns me to assure your safety, it is my only task unless he relieves me of this duty."

"If you were to allow me to do as what ask of you, then you would still be accomplishing your task. In fact, it would be more efficient for me to travel there on my own. As result, I can fulfill your task of returning to the Westfold," I countered his weak argument.

"I suppose that is true," he conceded. "Still, Captain Grimbold must hear of this."

"Very well, but after I am sent off," I responded. "That way I will no longer be a hindrance."

I almost left out a sigh of relief. After arguing with a horse and now a man, maybe I would be free. Then, I could continue with being a messenger if I was able to return safely.

"After you get your horse, you will stay in my protection until it is safe," the rider insisted.

Though I would rather have him let me go entirely, it may somehow work out once I got a hold of Stonefoot.

Weaving our way toward the captains of the Second Marshal, we rode over to find my mare. I wondered how much time was left before the next clash with the Armies of Sauron would ensue. Although we had distanced ourselves from the orcs to the north, it felt as though we were more than halfway the distance from the earthen forts situated at the Fords. Possibly less than eight miles remaining.

"What does the mare look like?" he enquired.

Isn't it obvious? She's not as tall as a warhorse. She's slower. And of course, the most noticeable detail would be that she was the only mare that did not don a bard (1).

Instead, I gave him a general description, "My mare's light gray, almost white in color. Her mane's much darker shade though. Of course, she's significantly shorter in stature."

Scanning the bank thoroughly, I did not spot here anywhere near the captain.

To my horror, I considered the fact that she may have fallen behind all the éoreds, with orcs nipping at her hooves. That did not bode well with me.

"Can we ride back to Captain Grimbold? I know he holds the north end of the riders. She may have fallen behind," I offered desperately.

"It wouldn't be prudent to ride in the opposing direction of the éoreds," he responded. His voice made it seem his face wore a frown. Noises responding to a call drew our attention to the trees.

From the west, orcs swarmed over the hills, worming their way through the forest. Some of the éoreds readied torches and set a few trees on fire for light. It was easier to tell the tactics of Sauron in better light.

The Armies of Sauron were the farthest away in the west and actually appeared to be getting closer along the northwest and southwest edges. They were going to surround us before we got to the Fords and defeat us through their sheer numbers using a cutting action. This would not only leave us without a way for escape, but force us to part with the River Isen to avoid the attacks from the north and south sides. If Elfhelm arrived on time, we may have a chance once we reunite with his éoreds at the Fords.

Ceorl never liked my unnatural interest in military strategy. For some reason, knowing the movement of Eorlingas made me feel safer. If you really wanted to know, my interest made no sense. I could not order an éored around nor contribute as a rider. I lack bravery. I am of no concern for the heir of the House of Eorl because I'm so distantly related. Worst of all, I now currently know I could be rendered a slave for breeding more orcs. I hope my escape route would be taking shape soon.

This was bad. As result, I would have less time to collect my horse. Also, the likelihood that I might reach the Fords was becoming narrower and narrower. I could only place my hope in the riders.

They weren't here yet. The orcs emerging from the south were still the farthest away. The Eorlingas continued riding south along the river.

Tapping the reins for a moment to get his attention, I reminded him of the task we still had. Finding Stonefoot. "I think we can move now. Though we can't ride back, we can wait behind a tree or ride back from the side. I prefer the latter." How did that captain reach Grimbold earlier? He must have ridden to the side. If this rider wouldn't comply, it was probably another way to say no.

Realizing there were no excuses left, the rider grudgingly consented and led me along the bank of the River Isen. I meant for him to travel on the forest side, but it was probably safer to travel here.

Without her rider, I was sure that my mare had gone in a frenzy. "Faster," I urged as I tried to grab the reins and press my feet into the sides of the mare.

At my efforts to commandeer his warhorse, the rider was thoroughly surprised. Our pace didn't change much because he shook my hands off like they were the claws of some meddlesome partridge.

Many riders were giving us strange glances as a single rider and a cloaked figure rode off the opposite direction. They might be thinking we would be a poor diversion or we were sending news. Noticing this small distraction among his éored, a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

"Was the lady giving you trouble, Haleth?" Grimbold asked. "Is that not the messenger from earlier?"

"Yes, well—"

Really now. I was certain I was civil throughout the task. No more stalling. All I wanted was my mare.

"I can easily tell why," he began.

I didn't like the sound of this. He seemed like a stern lecturing type.

"Asmund," he barked. A young rider rode over. He looked like he was really straining himself by holding the reins of two horses, especially for the uncooperative one. The worst part was that the rider was extremely unbalanced because of the mare's behavior. Had the mare been a rider, the mare would be in a full-out battle with Asmund.

"Stonefoot, I'm right here. Give the poor rider a break. You need to conserve your energy," I scolded.

Upon hearing my voice, she quickened her pace until she rode right next to Haleth, the rider of the horse I was currently on. I felt the metal gauntlets grip my waist and lift me over to Stonefoot.

At the same time, the most southern éoreds had gotten far enough to see the earthen forts overrun with orcs. Although I was too far to hear the details, I heard many captains shouting commands to position their riders for an attack. I only really heard Grimbold.

"Ready your weaponry," he bellowed. Other captains were giving similar instructions.

Lance-wielders in the front. They were sure to deliver the swiftest blow. Swordsmen in the rows behind them. Those who most proficient at swordsmanship were the bulk of the riders. There might have been a few bowmen speckled in each éored, having already drawn their bowstrings until the perfect moment to let those arrows fly. They too, probably wielded swords as well. Another reminder of why I shouldn't be here.

I heard the cries of riders respond to the Second Marshall. Hearing their brethren from the éoreds from the south, the voices of the riders to the north shouted to the heir of the House of Eorl.

There was unity.

"Charge!" The captains yelled.

And then there was chaos. Warhorses whizzed like arrows in the southernmost éoreds. The riders conducting the frontal assault became slightly distanced from each other as each line of riders broke into full speed.

Meanwhile, Grimbold assembled all the bowmen of the northernmost éoreds without slowing down much. Not wanting to divide the éoreds by splitting into two columns of riders, Grimbold was preparing a defensive attack against the orcs that pursued from the north. Once we took hold of the Fords, we could let our arrows fly as a bolt of lightning, initially stunning the orcs from the north and eventually the west.

Most of the riders did not notice Stonefoot and I were in a position as well. We were riding as fast as possible to keep up with the middle of the éoreds. An arrow would be notched against my bow at a moment's notice.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if you found last chapter painful to read. Going for more realistic this time.

I think I'm going to slow down the updates so I have a little more time to review some things.

(1) Complete set of horse armor for those employed by mounted knights in the Middle Ages.


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

* * *

Since the clouds had spread out broadly against the black night sky, I could scarcely tell the time based on the position of the moon and stars. There was only so much you can glean from a quick glance at the sky with clouds obscuring my view. After all, I couldn't look long because I needed to ride Stonefoot to the best of my ability.

Now that my gaze drifted from the sky back to the battlefield, I felt more focused and aware of the task that lay before me. The cool wind on my face and the feeling of having Stonefoot on a ride was interrupted by a gradually slower pace.

The éoreds of the Second Marshal had finally collided with the armies of orcs positioned at the earthen forts to the south. Reaching the point of momentum on the frontal assault, the riders had slowed down to recapture the forts situated at the Fords.

Created by the natural rocky cliffs that rose on either side of the west bank of the River Isen, the earthen forts were only effective for direct combat from the orcmen. The stone barriers of the west bank greatly impeded the flow of masses of orcs from the éoreds of the Mark. However, the forts were indefensible against archers who climbed the rocks and slaid many men.

Ablaze and offering little protection, the improvements to the stone forts built of rudimentary piles of wood and stone soon fell away. The resources that might have been left among the rocky interior of the earthen forts were smoldering in flames. Strewing burnt corpses of fellow riders at the feet of the ones who now fought, the Armies of Sauron had done a thorough job of terrorizing the perimeter of the Mark.

Our enemy numbered in the thousands, yet we were only a few hundred riders. We were vastly outnumbered. Since the éoreds were tightly packed together, I could not tell how many we had to resist their strength. Inevitably, I knew that it would hasten our riders' fall to the blade or to fatigue.

So close were all the éoreds that a rider could reach over to the mane of an adjacent rider of another éored with ease.

I felt closed in with taller warhorses with armor-clad riders towering over me. Typically, one would feel at ease under the protection of riders from the same kingdom, but I knew the enemy would peel them away layer by layer until only I remained. Unless I had a clear path to reach the Fords, it would seem that I had no means of escape.

Maneuvering as I could toward the island at the middle of the Fords, I kept turning to check for flying arrows that occasionally fell into the river. It was impossible though, to avoid an arrow I couldn't very well see in the darkness.

I wondered where the northern company of orcs wandered. Surprisingly, they had not yet reunited with the party at the south whose plan to ambush those of the Mark was foiled. Did they change their plans in response to our movement?

An enemy that you cannot see is the most deadly. How easily you could find yourself outflanked.

Once I got to the muddy island at the Fords, I found it manned by riders of the king's guard and the éoreds of the Second Marshal. Taking a defensive approach, Grimbold's éoreds held the western banks, blocking the orcs from access to the heir of Théoden-King.

Facing Grimbold's side, I tried to stay on the island and not slip into the treacherous marshes. Stonefoot didn't enjoy the soggy soil nor the larger horses that pushed and shoved to stay in the middle of the island. It didn't help that she was a feisty mare who didn't like to share her space or be outdone by bigger mares.

There was one remaining step in my escape strategy. The last ride off to the Westfold. I was afraid to take it for one particular reason.

"Retreat!" I heard the Second Marshal shout from the eastern banks. Another retreat, I thought with a tight frown. The enemy was advancing.

"Form your lines on the eastern banks," the Marshal ordered.

Too late. My fears were confirmed.

I was nearly knocked over by the tightly packed horses and riders pushing their way to join their éoreds on the eastern banks of the River Isen. Stonefoot was trying not to slip into the water.

Turning toward the east bank, I was astonished to see a smaller, more concentrated force of Uruk-hai from the north and warg-riders arrived from the southern stretch of the river. This must be a critical battle for Saruman's most dangerous abomination and the strongest creature he had in his arsenal to be used in such a massive number. Another ambush. The Dark Lord was just manipulating the Second Marshal into his plan for the Mark's downfall. I felt utterly useless as a messenger in circumstances of war whose message did nothing to thwart the efforts of Sauron.

Grimbold's éoreds continued to stand firmly against the growing masses of orcs who appeared to materialize from the darkness. The captain rode over to protect the prince. There were less éoreds on the east bank than on the west.

"Théodred," Grimbold called. "Stay at the middle of the island with your guard."

"I am fine here, Grimbold." Théodred shouted. "Continue your defence of the west bank as I protect the east."

"No, you must return to the island," Grimbold argued. "If you are slain, then there is no reason for this battle. My men can manage without me for the moment."

His duty to the prince. The only heir to Théoden-King. Once the Second Marshal bore a son, he would continue the Second Line of the kings of Riddermark.

"Among my éoreds I will be safe," Théodred reassured the older captain.

"It is not about my loyalty," the captain insisted. "You know that the Thane of Grimslade will always answer to the House of Eorl."

"I thank you for your faithfulness to the Mark," Théodred responded as if he had not heard the captain's first words.

"Théodred," he demanded the prince's attention. "I know that you prefer to fight alongside your éoreds, but who will defend the Gap when you are gone? After all these efforts Grima has taken to keep you from becoming First Marshal. What will be the future of Mark with only the Third Marshal remaining?"

Since Théoden-King had not gone off to war, the King's Guard was assembled around the prince instead. It consisted of eight or nine or best of riders throughout the Mark. All of them wielded long broadswords. I wasn't close enough to see, but their swords bore the insignia of the House of Eorl, a reminder of their duty to the king.

"Trust me when I say I have a duty to Théoden-King," Grimbold responded.

The prince did not respond.

"What? …No," Grimbold said to himself. He and his mare barreled through the other éoreds over to the prince.

Wanting to know if the prince's life was in immediate danger, I tried to peer over the tall riders that gathered on the eastern bank to wage war. I could see nothing.

I squeezed through the éoreds just in time to see the Second Marshal extricated from his éoreds. There was no way I could watch this.

Of the King's Guard, one rider lunged at the Uruk like he would any orc. In response, the orc drove his axe down at the shorter rider. The rider was tall among the King's Guard, but still shorter than the orc. I soon realized why. It was an Uruk. The blow of the Uruk was so powerful that it drove the rider back a step or two. The rider kept trying to block or parry the Uruk's blow only to fall to an arrow by a Dunlending, shooting from the back.

The King's Guard drew in closer to compensate for its lost member. When the same Uruk troubled another rider, Théodred cleaved off the head of the Uruk. It looked as if the Second Marshal resented his protection.

In the small gap of the King's Guard that he made for himself by battling that Uruk, two more Uruks raced over, eager to deliver the killing blow. However, Grimbold had arrived replacing the rider from the King's Guard.

An Uruk with broadened shoulders and significant height snarled in my direction and began swinging his axe wildly at his new mincemeat. He was a more fearsome orc, possessing a more muscular constitution and darker skin with white markings. Ceorl warned me to flee immediately upon seeing them for the are faster, smarter, and more brutal. Experienced riders have grown pale at descriptions of these creatures.

The greater concern was that more and more orcs were forming around Prince Théodred and Captain Grimbold. They were powerful together. The two leaders of the Mark seemed virtually untouchable when they fought back to back.

Stonefoot veered left sharply, avoiding what would have been a lethal blow. Hoping to confuse the Uruk, she ran to the other side of the Uruk, narrowly evading a blow from another orc that planted itself in the ground.

Though I tried to stay focused in my battle, I found myself glancing back to the Second Marshal. Where was the King's Guard? A circle of riders who lay dead at their feet answered my question. Although there were a few still in battle, they weren't effective in protecting the prince now. By this point, the King's Guard must have been completely dismantled for the orcs to get that close to the prince.

My dagger would useless against the might of the orcs' weaponry, so I notched an arrow and aimed it at the orc. At the same time, Stonefoot rushed forward to protect us, causing my arrow to miss his neck entirely. It lodged into his shoulder harmlessly, which appeared to be covered by an iron plate-body.

Fixing a new arrow in place, I aimed more to the right and let it fly. Still, it missed flying right over his head and sinking into the back of an Uruk that fighting Grimbold . Temporarily distracted from the captain, he roared in response he rushed at me. In the process, he knocked over and trampled the orc that I had been trying to defeat.

The Uruk fell nearby Stonefoot, startling him into running into an orc at the right.

Grimbold cast me a scathing glance for failing to travel to safety when it was well within my means. It was the same disapproving look that Ceorl often gave me. He was right, I should have ridden back.

Presently, there was nothing I could do about that. I whipped out another arrow and aimed it directly at the closest orc. He stood directly in front of me wielding a dagger. He fell to the ground. I wouldn't be found completely useless on the battlefield.

More and more arrows were dispersed until there was finally some space around me. Space that some éoreds filled in. I was glad for that. Before, I wasn't sure how a few orcs snuck past the thick layers of the éoreds positioned on the west bank. What scared me the most was that I almost hadn't seen them coming since I was so focused on the east bank.

In the distance, I saw the dark hair of Dunlending bowmen who approached from either side, mowing down countless riders with arrows. Though I saw a few earlier, I kept asking myself if they were part of the Mark. I knew that the Dunlendings despised the House of Eorl, but until this battle I never thought they would dare to attempt to destroy the kingdom they endeavored to rule. Clearly, I underestimated their wrath. I suppose living in Dol Amroth and among the Sayordins has insulated me from this knowledge.

The network of Sauron's manipulations stretched far. That must explain Grima. They have become minions of the Dark Lord, I thought, as I notched an arrow into my bow. Many were quickly extinguished by the Westfold bowmen that emerged from south of the Fords. However, I managed to get one of them that tried to aim at a nearby éored on the west bank.

Leaving the battle wouldn't be possible for a very long time.

I knew that Elfhelm didn't have a large force, but it would provide a tactical advantage by surprising the Uruk-hai and warg-riders at the east bank.

Ceorl had saw to the matter personally. He'd gone with Ædelfrid, the other messenger, to tell Elfhelm to come quickly to reinforce the Gap.

Was the Muster of Edoras ever coming?

* * *

A/N: You're probably getting tired of this battle. Don't worry. It'll end soon enough. I just wanted to make a good enough battle scene.


End file.
